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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330350">The bridge affair.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarknoir19/pseuds/snarknoir19'>snarknoir19</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Panther (2018), Black Panther (Comics), Black Widow (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Control, F/M, Prague, Public Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:08:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarknoir19/pseuds/snarknoir19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha relinquishes control.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>T’Challa/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The bridge affair.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was started a while ago in a bout of insomnia and then abandoned. Was about to delete it but thought it might actually be fun to develop.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The spires of the great old city emerged slowly, reluctantly, from the evening mists while the statues on the Charles Bridge still remained shrouded in heavy fog. Silent Sentinels keeping watch over the Vltava.</p><p>People meandered past her in ones and twos.  Cameras out and hands clutching their flyers from the tourism kiosk.  </p><p>Her instincts were to turn and observe them.  To maintain her situational awareness.  They were very old instincts, and they had served her well over the years.  However; today she was following instructions rather than instincts.  Very specific instructions and as difficult as it might be, she would resist her nature and simply comply.  </p><p>She was to stand here with her hands on the low wall and to keep her gaze directed out over the water.   She was not to turn around. She was not to engage with tourists. She was to wait for him.  And so she did.  Alone amongst the sightseeing crowd she stood waiting on the historic bridge and tried to focus on the scenery.  </p><p>But she felt so damned conspicuous in this ridiculous outfit, and she knew that this was part of it. </p><p>She knew she stood out and would be noticed, although probably not recognized. No, the Black Widow had always been discreet.  None would identify her, certainly not in her present attire. </p><p>Yes. She would definitely attract notice.  The damned skirt was short enough to demand attention.  And any one who did notice her would assume what they would. They would not probably assume she was naked beneath the skirt.  But she was.  That had been another instruction. And the slightly chill morning air ran lightly between her thighs, emphasizing her nudity standing there among the morning crowd. And she shivered despite herself at the intensely vulnerable sense of exposure.  The slightest breeze might reveal her to anyone who chanced to be looking over at that moment. Mothers, fathers, children. They were all around her. </p><p>It was a heady thought, and she felt a course of excitement at the very real risk of being seen and not being able to do anything about it.  Not taking action because she had submitted to the will of another person who wanted her exactly as she was. </p><p>She was grateful for the anonymity.  It was her only real concealment.  It was one thing to dress in revealing clothing and be able to deny intent. To lure and then reject or ignore. That was a powerful, dizzying experience. </p><p>This , by contrast, was vulnerability.  True vulnerability.  She couldn’t deny to anyone watching that her intent, her desire, was for attention. To be noticed explicitly sexually. </p><p>She was not to move once she arrived.  If someone approached her she would merely smile and shake her head ‘no’.  Should the breeze pick up and threaten to expose her she was to ignore it. Keep her hands flat on the low wall until he arrived because that had also been part of the instruction. </p><p>A cell phone buzzed beside her, pulling her attention to a young woman, teen? Beside her.  Standing too closely beside her.  Thumbs jabbed at the screen and the phone was pocketed with a huff.<br/>
The girl glanced up and they met eyes briefly.  </p><p>And then, as if conjured up  by her own imagination the breeze did pick up and fluttered her light skirt, and she was hyper aware of how thin and sheer the material was between her and these meandering strangers.</p><p>Giving herself to him.  She would never state it as such.  Never admit it.  Not in a million years thank you very much, but in moments like this, or in the privacy of her own sheets at night, she would entertain the notion of belonging to him in the strictest sense of the word. His to command and it would send shivers and she would...</p><p>Natasha stopped and shook herself out of the reverie. Focus. </p><p>And then suddenly someone was behind her.  A solid presence at her back. It had to be him.  Please be him. And not one of the pickpockets she’d seen working the fringes of every tourist gathering.  Or one of the occasional opportunists who brushed their sweaty hands ‘innocently’ against her in the crowd. If it was any of those others that person would find themselves swimming in the Vltava, short skirt and ‘instructions’ be damned.</p><p>The presence was now pressed against her and she felt her pulse quicken. </p><p>Do not move. </p><p>She kept her hands pressed flat on the cool stone surface as he’d instructed and tried to hold still while sensing his movements.  Fidgeting. He was fidgeting with his belt. Now he was adjusting his long overcoat and she watched out of the corners of her eye while the flaps reached around forward to envelop her. </p><p>It was him. </p><p>The people were so close. She steadied her breathing and waited. She could feel phone girl not watching them but clearly paying attention. </p><p>People of all ages moved around them on the historic Charles Bridge.  Most with cameras or cell phones out to to record the beautiful backdrop of the old city or the statues situated at points along the way. </p><p>Prague was shrouded in heavy fog today and the old city lurked in the silent background teaming with secrets while tourists swirled about in their clamor and color and noise.</p><p>Natasha knew a few of the secrets.  She was at the center of a few.  She was the center of one now: she and her partner the Black Panther.  Dressed in civilian clothing, they might be corporate professionals. Administrators. Dignitaries.  Out for a turn around the city.  The tourists paid them no mind and if any did chance to notice them standing there, so still, so apparently engrossed in the view, they would assume that they too were tourists and caught in the city’s dramatic beauty.  They would be wrong. </p><p>As soon as his coat closed around her from behind her hands flew to the hem of her skirt while he nuzzled a kiss to the shell of her ear.  </p><p>And oh! his scent and the scratch of stubble and she was pressing herself backward and felt him adjust his clothing behind her and then, in a heady rush, she felt his bare skin pressed against hers. She would have been embarrassed by how quickly and how obviously she was ready for him had she been capable of rational thought.  </p><p>Reason and self control were quickly slipping away.</p><p>She pressed herself back against him firmly and then with a slick plunge and a shudder they were fully joined.   His overcoat closed around them both from behind and she was held pressed flush against him and breathless, impaled, and full.</p><p>“I would never have expected you’d do this.”  Her voice sounded breathless and light and hushed all at once.  A squeal escaped her when he moved and she was only briefly embarrassed.  It was too late for composure and poise. </p><p>She’d raised her skirt and tilted forward the instant his coat closed around her.  And when he began to tease her with his length slid between her thighs she immediately reached to guide him. </p><p>They were now among the oblivious crowd of tourists. So dangerously close now and shoulder to shoulder with the crowd. A camera bumped her arm.  Foreign languages clamoring around them. </p><p>A child’s excited shout.  A mother yanking a girl’s arm. </p><p>For a moment they held still and just stood there adjusting to the insane sensation of holding each other, their intimate coupling hidden only by the thin fabric of his dark over coat. </p><p>The steady march of conversation slid past them as another group of pedestrians crossed the historic bridge, marveling at the statuary and unaware of the heat and the wet of the couple standing there at the rail. </p><p>They were secret.  They were alone in the middle of this sea of people.</p><p>She heard T’Challa’s faint gasp when she clenched around him.</p><p>A new presence to her left: elderly couple.  Crowded tightly against her.</p><p>Natasha stole a glance to her right and saw immediately that the girl knew.  She knew! The former spy watched the girl flick a glance down  to where she imagined they were coupled.  Right there beside her.  Natasha was still watching when the girl looked up and caught her eye and for a beat there was a sharing.  An understanding.  The girl  crimsoned and shyly smiled.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha was clenching and knew Tchalla would sense how close she was and then, he paused.  He stopped and held still. Actually stopped half way out and stilled himself there. </p><p>Natasha sought to grind against him seeking that friction, that fullness, but he denied her and even pulled fractionally away.  Dragging achingly sweet from her warmth until he was only just within her.  Natasha clenched him again and he shoved forward and she yelped when he bottomed out. The teen jumped beside them, startled by the intimacy of her voice in so public a setting. </p><p>Natasha shut her eyes awash in the sensations and was simply held and filled and....her eyes snapped open when she felt a hand softly touching hers.  The teenager looked away out over the water but didn’t move her hand and Natasha’s was aware of her breathing growing heavier. </p><p> </p><p>The girl shyly squeezed Natasha’s hand and Natasha could now see that the girl’s other hand was down the front of her shorts...  It didn’t register at first but then Natasha’s brain caught up and the girl had now sidled closer and pressed into Natasha’s side.  She was moving gently with their movements and somehow they were three together. </p><p>It was wrong.  It was irresponsible.  It was reckless.  It was fucking amazing and her heart was hammering.  She gave in to the rush, and ground herself back , reveled in the impossible slickness, the driving, the fullness, the sweet ache that rose and swelled and...</p><p>When the girl glanced up again Natasha started to smile but then it was building, too high: the need, slow coiling heat pulling to tension, and climbing and she has to move faster.</p><p>WTF. She thinks but that is gone in an instant and she is building high and fast and urgent and fuck. It’s too much and then the bastard stops moving and she hears herself whine and it’s loud among the small knot of people surrounding her.  She glanced shocked to her right and the girl is peaking up at her, with ‘that’ face: pink cheeked and heated and then Tchalla slides deep and Natasha groans despite herself. She can feel the old woman to her left staring now but Natasha doesn’t care at all. Can’t care anymore because it’s building, and, it’s coming...</p><p>The girl is pressed close now and she wonders if Tchalla is thinking of them both and the thought pushes her over the edge...</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was one of two dozen false starts that played with ideas of trust and control and just maybe a sense of belonging in the healthiest sense of the term. </p><p>Feedback and suggestions are welcome.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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